Chapter Three
Mr. Darcy had every hope that Georgiana would find a good friend in Anne. It would be good for Anne, as well, as Mr. Darcy could not believe that Anne’s rather elderly companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, provided her with anything resembling real friendship.
In any case, it was now up to him to write the necessary letter.
Dear Aunt Catherine,
Georgiana is rather lonely here at Pemberley. Our efforts to find a suitable companion for her have not borne fruit, and she hopes you will invite her to Rosings Park for the summer. I believe she and Anne would be good company for one another.
If you agree, I will escort her to Rosings myself, though I will not stay for more than a night, as there is a good deal to be done at Pemberley.
Your loving nephew,
Darcy
***
A reply came just four days later.
Darcy,
Georgiana is always welcome at Rosings Park. I will have a suitable room prepared for her at once.
Aunt Catherine
Georgiana received a letter as well, which she read, smiled over, and then gave to Mr. Darcy to read.
Dearest Georgiana,
I am very excited that you are to join me here at Rosings Park. There is very little to do here, but just having you with us will be a welcome change.
I wish you safe travels.
With love,
Cousin Anne
It was, Georgiana thought, a nice letter. She tried to imagine Anne being ‘very excited,’ and failed utterly, but the fact that she said she was excited – well, that was encouraging.
“It was good of her to write,” Mr. Darcy said. Then he added, “I do hope that you and Anne will be good for one another.”
“When will we leave, Brother?”
“Monday morning at dawn.”
“I shall begin packing at once!” Georgiana ran upstairs.
Mr. Darcy stepped outside and surveyed Pemberley.
He could see only a small part of it, of course – the crystal blue lake, the verdant trees, the flowers celebrating the warmth of summer!
And he could smell Pemberley, as well. It had always seemed to him that Pemberley had its own scent, a unique combination of beech, chestnut, sycamore, oak, ash and yew, all overlaid with the heavy perfume of his mother’s rose garden.
He was doubtless heavily biased, he thought with a small smile, but the air of Pemberley seemed to him to be the sweetest perfume in all the world. He would miss it.